


Bust my Lip

by PatrioticFrisbee



Series: Lost at Sea [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And a carrot, Fighter!Jesse, Gen, Genji is a Little Shit, Hurt and comfort, Illegal Fight Ring, Jesse goes through some shit at the beginning, Kidnapping, M/M, More characters and tags as I go, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Veteran!Jesse, Yakuza!Hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatrioticFrisbee/pseuds/PatrioticFrisbee
Summary: It's a long flight he didn't plan on being on. It's a long fight he never wanted to join.Then comes the man in the dark hair, with the dark eyes, and buys him out of a dark place he never even knew existed.He's not sure if it's for the better yet.





	Bust my Lip

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tag I'm sorry.
> 
> Also, heads up:  
> JESSE GETS KIDNAPPED AND DRUGGED AT THE BEGINNING.  
> It explains how he got from Point A to Point B, and is not terribly graphic in my opinion but it does happen.  
> Also he gets in a fight and gets a little bloody...hence the. The fighter Jesse tag.
> 
> Hi! First Overwatch Fanfic. Part of a series. Yeehaw!
> 
> i am so bad at formatting on this diddly darn website augh!

See, here's the thing. He'd seen enough movies, read enough books. He knew what was going on: He was being Shanghai'd. Literally.

 

Well, almost literally--it was short a couple of things. Things like, it wasn't ye Olde Days with Saloons and underground bar tunnels. He also was not currently being forced to labor on a merchant ship.

  
He may or may not be going to Shanghai. That he didn't actually know.

  
Another thing? They were in a military grade transport plane. Two aisles in the center facing the walls, and aisles along the walls. All with chairs, all with men about his age strapped in like cattle. On one hand, thanks for the seat belts. On the other, it would have been a lot easier to escape if his hands were cuffed to the seat between his knees. 

  
They didn't appear to have any guards either. Which was odd.   
  


Some of the other young men around him were either waking up, or had been awake, and he learned quite a bit. Most of them were from major port cities in the US: namely Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Orlando. Some came out of Texas, and a few ou of New York, but mostly those other three. Some, like Jesse, were natives. Others were the unlucky sort who had been in the states on vacation, or on scholarship. Most of the men around him, too, were relatively well fit. The man across from him, a man named Hyung, was actually former military too. He and Jesse chatted quietly, discussing tours. Jesse'd had three, got shot on his last one, honorable discharge. Hyung was supposed to go off on his second tour in a week.

  
"Was in Vegas with the guys to blow off steam," he laughed bitterly. "Not uh. Not how I thought it'd go."   


"I'm a god-damn table dealer," Jesse snorted. "Moved out to Vegas after my last tour, got lucky with a job at the Paris hotel."   


"You work in the Paris hotel?"   


"Yeah I know, accent right?" Jesse snorted. "I think I was walking home after my shift. Maybe? I don't actually remember what happened."   


"I'm ninety five percent sure I was too drunk to notice being kidnapped." They laughed a little. Someone down the aisle from them started panicking. Loudly. Jesse snorted through his nose and Hyung knocked his boot with his own. "Give the kid a break, he hasn't seen the shit we have."   


"Dunno about you, but I've never been kidnapped neither. You don't see me pissing myself."   


"That's cause you've been alone in a bombed out city with gunfire in the distance."   


"True," Jesse admitted.   


"There are scarier things out there than...this," Hyung glanced down at the kid. "Something tells me we'll see some of it when we land."

\---

After his discharge, Jesse kept up his exercise regimen. It kept his mind clear, sort of. Kept him focused on the now, on the aches in his shoulders or the heat on his back during a run. He wasn't exactly an easy guy to take down. Special Ops out of the Marines, specialized combat sniper. He's a mean snake when you fuck with him. That's what bothers him though. How did he end up on some kind of transport to who knows where, without even remembering being attacked?   
Some guys contemplated being drugged. Some were just snatched right off the sidewalk.

  
Jesse couldn't fucking  _ remember _ .

  
\--

  
No one came down from the main decks above for a long time, though you could hear their footfalls. The pale lights barely illuminated the space, and it had been hours since Jesse had woken up. Probably a trans-atlantic flight? Some were starting to doze off again. Some had panicked themselves into a fit, passing out of vomiting on themselves which...gross.

  
Jesse let his weight hang against the full body restraints that kept him pinned to the wall, eyes focused on the painful little cuffs between his knees. Some water'd be nice, but probably too much to ask for. 

  
He wasn't sure where his mind went, something about home and Empinadas when there was a bang, and the sound of voices. He lifted his head, watching a handful of men descending into the lower deck. They were armed, and armed heavily. AK's, helmets, kevlar gear. No symbols, and face masks. About as anonymous as you could get. Whatever they were speaking, Jesse could pin it as East Asian. That's about it.   


"It's Nepalese," Hyung said quietly. "I don't know much, but I caught a few words."   


"Anything damning?"   


"I caught 'have','men', 'they'." Hyung huffed. "Like I said--don't know much."

The men in black armor began moving methodically down the rows. They'd force a man's mouth open, slip something inside, and hold his jaw shut and cover his nose until he swallowed. Then move on.   


"I doubt it's poison," Jesse muttered. "Too much trouble to nab all of us just to kill us all."   


"Looks like we're going for a trip." Hyung and Jesse both winced when a man was beat over the jaw with a baton, who wouldn't open his mouth.    


"Yee-haw," Jesse muttered. He glanced up through his dark hair and the indeterminable person in front of him. They gripped his jaw and he opened his mouth. As expected, they placed some kind of pill onto his tongue and covered his jaw and mouth, other hand closing his nose. He swallowed, even if the pill sort of started to dissolve on his tongue.    


"This oughta be fun," Someone muttered in the dark. Jesse snorted. When the men finished dosing them, they gathered themselves up and climbed the ladder to the upper deck. Jesse settled back against the humming wall of the plane and closed his eyes. Wait for the inevitable.

 

\---

  
Thirty minutes passed before he started hearing confused noises from around him, and about 45-minutes passed before he started feeling it himself. Fuzzy and warm around the edges, blurry when he opened his eyes. He felt light, somehow, and way too heavy at the same time. He knew his head wasn't moving (he was pretty SURE his head wasn't moving) but the world kept seesawing left and right and then doubling over on itself. Eventually he found himself giggling a little, fingers winding around the cuffs between his knees.   


Then the light came. It was  _ blinding _ , and Jesse wasn't the only one who made noises of distress. His overexposed eyes saw vague shapes moving through the fuzzy fog. Heard voices distantly. They'd landed, he guessed. But where?   
People came and went. He saw figures moving in and out, around, pausing at stations and moving on. Heard belts unclasping, refastening. It felt like it went on for hours.

  
Then the light was gone, and Jesse saw a dark figure come in front of him and felt a prick in his neck. Then he finally went to sleep.   
  


Next time Jesse woke up, it was bright again. His neck was sore, and everything was still really, really fuzzy. But someone had hoisted him to his feet, wrists still bound, and was shoving him down the aisle.   
Walking while high on whatever the fuck they dosed him with? Not easy. He stumbled and fell once, received a swift kick to the ribs, and was hoisted back to his feet and shoved again. They pushed him towards the light, which blinded him entirely once out of the darker underbelly of the transport chain.

  
More voices. More figures. Blue above--open sky. Then he felt hands on him. Felt a knife, and then his shirt was gone? Hands were on him, moving him. Voices everywhere. Hands in his hair, spreading his eyes open (ouch), lifting his lips like checking to see a dog's teeth. Was he being appraised? Oh, god. Where was he?

More voices. More stumbling--a long walk somewhere. Then he felt the ground vanish from beneath him and fell sideways. His shoulder hit whatever it was hard. He heard a mechanical door roll shut, felt someone messing with his ankles.   
"Ain't y'all good hosts," he offers. Or things he offers. There voices around him and something hard connects with his temple.

  
He goes dark again.

  
\---

Jesse McCree was kidnapped from Las Vegas, Nevada, three years ago today.    


He sat in a shoebox of a locker room, wrapping his wrists and hands with athletic tape. In front of him, his locker stands open. Inside are his day clothes--simple jeans, an unmarked hoodie, sneakers. He'd donned his red shorts and his ankle braces for the evening, easy to move in. While his hands moved on auto-pilot with the tape, his eyes focused on a crappy take-out calendar taped up on the back of said locker.   


Three years, today, he'd been here.    


Hanamaru was a nice place. A nice place with one hell of a dark underbelly. At first look, the place looks to be the idyllic tourist attraction. Ancient Japanese architecture with modern flare. Even an old Pre-Edo Palace. Cherry blossom trees on every corner, turning pink and littering the streets with petals during the spring and summer.   


Jesse didn't get to see that part all that often. Jesse lived in the red light district, in a two-room apartment above a noodle shop he part-timed at.  Most of his time? He was fighting.   
  


Three years ago he'd been bought by Hitachi Kinamura, a business mogul out of Tokyo who owned a couple of the hotels in Hanamura. Some of these hotels, if you asked the right people and had the right credentials? Let you into their lower levels. This is where the fighting rings were.   


Jesse'd been bought for his stature, history in arms, and good health. His lack of substance addiction helped too, though that had changed over the years. Kinamura had passed him around between multiple trainers, between rings, over his three year career as an illegal brawler. Most of the time, he won. Sometimes he lost--sometimes he was forced to throw a fight. But mostly he won.   


He'd garnered the nickname Deadeye--he'd managed to clock enough people once over the head for a KO that people thought he had a strategy. It was sort of amusing if you thought about it. 

  
Strategy. Jesse was just trying to make it through the next day.

  
"Makree," his latest trainer, known only as "Kira", poked his head in. Jesse looked up to meet him, tearing off the table and finishing his wrappings quickly before standing. "Hurry up. We start in ten minutes."   


"Yeah yeah," He grabbed a hairtie out of his locker before kicking the locker shut and following the sound of his traitor's voice out into the hallway. His hands worked to wind his hair up into a topknot. Nothing fancy, he'd probably lose it by the end of  the night. "Coming."  


”Really important you win," Kira said stiffly. He was a mean little man, and not all of Jesse's scars were left over from his tours in the marines. "We have guests here, important guests. Investors for Kinamura-sama. They betting on you."   


"That'd usually be a good reason to win," Jesse pulled one arm over his chest, stretching on his shoulder.    


"Don't be smart ass," Kira snapped. "You will win."   


"I usually do."   


"There is no 'usually'," Kira stopped him, levelling him a look. "There is only success. If you fail? You not move on."   


"...What do you mean I won't move on?"   


"I mean," Kira said slowly. "  _ Very important investors _ here for Kinamura-sama. And they do not like lose."   


Shit. Shit shit fuck. Yakuza? He hadn't been in a Yakuza bet for nearly ten months. Those fights were fucking brutal; he'd lost a tooth last time. He absently run his tongue along his lower teeth as if he could feel the enamel replacement.   


"You understand, Deadeye?"   


"Loud'n clear, boss."   


"Good." Kira shoved him sharply, almost violently, out the door. The room was loud with hundreds of voices in the dark watching the little lit up make shift arena Jesse'd be quite literally fighting for his life in. "Win."   


\--

Somehow, Jesse won.

  
The guy he fought he'd never seen before. He was huge, sounded German, and hit like a mac truck. Jesse's only saving grace was his speed; he could dodge and weave, get behind the guy, kick his legs out or hit a kidney.    


They went eight. Fucking.  _ Rounds _ .   


He could taste blood in his mouth. His nose was absolutely no-doubt broken. His ears were ringing and one eye was stuck shut thanks to a slowly bleeding cut above his eyebrow. That eye was probably swollen too.   


The judge counting down and spit out a glob of blood on to the arena floor, cleaned his mouth off with his wrist. Not terribly elegant, but he didn’t fucking care. Eight rounds--he had the right to be a bloody gross mess thank you.   
German guy didn't get up.   


"Deadeye!" Shouts the judge. He grabs Jesse's wrist and lifted his hand above his head. The tape was flaking off his fingers, revealing bloody knuckles. He was sure he at at least one broken finger.  "Winner."

“Thank fuck,” Jesse muttered.

 

He wasn't sure why. 

He was tired, half unconscious and probably had a concussion. He was only standing because he'd trained through pain like this before. He'd collapse in the locker room for a while before taking the bus home later. 

  
This shouldn't have been any different. But it was  _ was _ . Something made it so much different.

  
He looked up at the crowd. Couldn't see much, the lighting was bad on his end and he saw a lot of shadows, but there was a man just on this side of the light sitting on the floor level, front row, not far from where he stood. His hair was long and dark, and the shadows cut violent angles across the man's face. He wore nice shoes--they sparkled. A blue shirt maybe? The guy next to him looked almost comical with his green hair and orange hoodie. But Jesse paid him no mind.

  
The dark haired man smiled. Slow, careful, like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. Jesse stood, entranced, as the lithe man stood in one fluid motion, hands coming up...and clapped.   
He clapped.

  
Why did that scare Jesse so much?

  
\---

Jesse was first taken to the laughable excuse of a 'nurse' that basically wiped the blood off his face, set his nose, and gave him a bottle of water and some opiates he'd sort of started relying on heavily to train through the pain.   
Once he felt the vague fuzziness of the opiates settling in, he downed half his water bottle and moved down the hallways, passing the laundry staff of the hotel above and waving at a few he knew. By the time he finished his water, he was rounding the corner to the lockers and elbowing his way into the locker room.

  
Kira stood there, and so did the man with dark hair and predator’s smile. In the dim light of the lockers, he could see him better. Broad shoulders, long, long silky dark hair, just a touch of grey at the temples. A perfectly trimmed goatee. The shirt he wore was sinful, a deep blue that fit just a little too tight over the chest, buttons pulling a little across his pecks. The slacks were tailored, accentuating long legs. Jesse’d be way more into it if he wasn’t already fighting off the human urge to just go the fuck to sleep.

  
"Ah!" Kira turned to Jesse, and so did the mystery man. "Makree. Let me introduce you to Shimada Hanzo."   


"...Pleasure, Shimada-san," Jesse ducked a little into a somewhat of a bow. He didn't go too far, vision already swimming, and then turned towalk over to the trash can nearby. His peeling tape was starting to make the scabs on his knuckles ache.    


"You will be going with Shimada-dono after tonight," Kira said plainly. "End of story." And then Kira left.   


Just fucking left. What the hell?

Jesse watched the little bastard go with his mouth ajar, before turning to look back at this Hanzo person.   


"...You are a commendable fighter," Hanzo offers without looking at him. Instead he uses a pen from his pocket to pry open Jesse's locker, looking at its contents with vague disgust. "Your stance is impeccable, your movements precise and efficient. Were you always a fighter?"   


"...Army, back home," Jesse finished with his hands, turning to face the man completely.    


"Explains much," Hanzo hummed before finally looking up at Jesse again. "I've bought you from Kinamura-san. You are property of the Shimada-gumi now."   


"Yee-haw."   


"Watch your tone," Hanzo's expression darkened. Jesse felt his heart stutter, fear racing up his spine. How was this guy so fucking scary? "...You will be a personal bodyguard," Hanzo approached him, hands tucking neatly behind his back. "You will be trained in our style, taught to wield a sword--"   


"Sniper."   


"...what," Hanzo hissed through his teeth.   


"I was a sniper," Jesse repeated. "In the military, sir. I don't miss if you give me a gun."   


"When you have earned my trust, perhaps I will grant you that. But we deal in a more personal execution." Hanzo lifted his chin a little. "Redress, return to your home, and gather your things. Tomorrow before dawn, there will be car waiting for you at Goya Ramen House. It will take you to my estate. Do you know Japanese?"   


"Well enough to get around town if I need to," Jesse admitted. "Nothin' formal."   


"I'll ensure you receive a tutor." And with that Hanzo turned, heading for the locker room door. "Have a good evening, Makree."   


"Hey," Jesse took a half step after him. Hanzo's eyes snapped to him, looking at him like a bug on the sidewalk. Jesse fidgeted. "Jesse, the name's Jesse."   


"...I will see you tomorrow,  _ Jesse _ ," Hanzo said simply, and then he was gone.   


Jesse stared at the door for a long time, before he dressed to go home.   


This should be interesting indeed.  
  



End file.
